


forward reaching

by insomyera



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/F, Seven is subtle, and then she’s not, more at 10, the subtle gay™️, there’s also gay panic™️, this started and ended a lot differently than I imagined
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 13:02:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15841842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomyera/pseuds/insomyera
Summary: 0300. Not quite a philosophical discussion.





	forward reaching

“Have you ever been in love?”  
  
She doesn’t find the question odd, per se— hell, she knew the topic was bound to come up sooner or later, and given the disaster date she’d heard had ended with a torn ligament and a snickering Paris— she really shouldn’t be all that surprised.  
  
But she is. Because it’s 0300, and it’s the first thing that Seven says as she steps into her quarters.  
  
Janeway’s halfway between giving her the _look_ — because she’s said it once and she’ll say it again, _0300 was not the time for philosophical discussion when she had to be up by 0600_ — and chuckling at the shear oddity that she’s being asked this at three in the morning without so much as a _hello._

  
Instead, she takes a step back, makes a sweeping gesture towards her couch and says, “Take a seat.”  
  
In the moment it takes Seven to reach it, the words are already forming on Kathryn’s lips.  
  
“I have.”  
  
It’s a simple answer, probably a little too vague. Mark flashes through her mind briefly— and despite the tinge of sadness she feels, her expression doesn’t turn wistful— she doesn’t let it.  
  
But there’s a knowing glint in her eyes, and her lips quirk slightly at the edges  
  
“What’s brought this on, all of a sudden?”  
  
Because Janeway is willing to bet two months worth of replicator rations on the fact that this really must be bothering Seven if she’s bringing it up _right now._  
  
Or maybe she’s just curious, even a little lonely.  
  
The idea is dismissed just as quickly as it crosses her mind.  
  
“I admit, I cannot seem to fully grasp such a concept. I do not understand it.”  
  
Seven’s expression shifts, a fraction— but she sees it. Janeway looks towards her, eyes shrouded in the half light, already attempting to piece together the puzzle sitting right before her. She makes a move to reply, but her lips haven’t even parted before Seven speaks up again.

  
“The thought makes me...apprehensive.”  
  
She’s sure that she lets her surprise filter across her expression briefly, because Seven raises an eyebrow in response. The former’s lips quirk again, gently, eyes crinkling at the edges as she sits across from her and clasps her hands over her lap.  
  
It takes a few moments to gather her thoughts.  
  
“When you’re in love—“ she looks contemplative, hands gesturing, the movement drawing Seven’s attention for a split second, “—Well, it’s really different for everyone. The person is always in your thoughts. Some people say it can feel as if your heart is about to explode. Others, you can’t breathe. Being with them can make you...happy, content. Their presence can be a comfort, it can be like— home. Feel like home.”  
  
A look of mild concern is the reply she receives.  
  
“Love makes you forego pulmonary ventilation?”  
  
It takes a moment to connect the dots, but the second it clicks Janeway laughs so hard her skin flushes from the base of her neck upwards as she covers her eyes because _you take my breath away_ really has a different effect when framed like _that._

  
It takes another to realise Seven is joking, which only makes it all the more harder to suppress the grin plastered across her face.  
  
“Not like that exactly, but something along those lines.”  
  
Her grin doesn’t subside for another minute at the least, and they fall into a comfortable silence. Janeway twirls her thumbs, still smiling, and decides then and there that she ought to visit Seven more often.  
  
She thinks maybe her answer is sufficient, but then Seven angles her body towards her a fraction, and Janeway notices that too.  
  
“What is your own assessment of it, then?”  
  
She stills, eyes drifting as she considers her words carefully. She really should be the _last_ person anyone asked about this particular subject, and that’s exactly what she’s about to say, but when she lifts her eyes she finds that Seven has moved close enough now that Janeway is sure the action is deliberate.  
  
She blinks, twice. It’s enough time for her to formulate a haphazard answer.  
  
“It’s interesting, to say the least. A little difficult, a little painful, but it’s inevitable. We all fall in love, one way or another. We throw _caution to the wind_ , and sure— it doesn’t always pay off, but that’s the risk we‘re willing to take when we give someone our heart.”  
  
Now it’s Seven’s turn to contemplate, and she does so with a near blank expression that almost reminds Janeway of Tuvok—  but then her eyes shift back, and the thought crosses her mind that the colour swirls like phaser fire set to stun.  
  
She shifts, crosses her left leg over her right, and waits.  
  
“And the risk— is it always worth taking? Even if you are certain it will not end in your favour?”  
  
Seven completely stills, and it catches Janeway’s attention more than the gaze boring into her own.  
  
“Well, you certainly won’t know until you try.”  
  
Her lips quirk at one side, the half smile crooked but soft— and she’s sure she’s said the right thing this time. Because Seven stands, abruptly, and Janeway thinks maybe she’s going to leave.  
  
But then her hand is reaching out towards her shoulder, and she’s leaning down, and the action only makes Janeway lean back further. Until she can’t, because her back is already pressed against the seat and Seven is hovering over her and she’s _only getting closer_.

  
_Protocol, protocol, protocol_  ricochets against each corner of her mind at breakneck speed as her own hands press against Seven’s shoulders gently, keeping her in place.  
  
“Seven, wait. I’m your captain, this isn’t— I can’t—“  
  
“Do you trust me?”  
  
Maybe it’s the late nights stacking up, or the profound amount of coffee she’s consumed over the last four hours why she doesn’t defuse the situation as easily as she knows she could, and instead looks straight into Seven’s eyes— uncertain, _afraid._  
  
It turns out she isn’t really keeping her in place as much as she thought, and with a dozen more worries forcing their way to the front of her mind, she’s a little less concerned over it.

All she can think is her _crew, home, protocol, Starfleet_ —  
  
In the end, it doesn’t matter.  
  
Because the gentle pressure of Seven’s lips is already on her own, and  _everything else can just wait._


End file.
